


a tremulous unfolding

by fairytalefix



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/F, Fate, Goddesses, Kick Ass Magical Battles, Magic, Regal Believer, Swan Believer, Time Travel, time and space shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-10 06:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalefix/pseuds/fairytalefix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sorceresses falling in love and their desperate attempts to get back home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to read a story about kick ass magical battles, time and space shenanigans, and Regina and Emma being their bad ass sorceress selves and falling in love. So I wrote that story. It's kind of an alternate SQ 4a. Major differences include no OQ or CS. Robin and Roland are reunited with Marian and they all live happily ever after. Hook, after realizing that he has no chance with Emma, leaves SB on his recovered Jolly Roger and goes off to have piratey adventures. Eventually he falls in love with a treasure scavenging merman and forsakes a life on the sea for life under it. He joins a crustacean band as the lead drummer and lives happily ever after and far, far away from Emma. 
> 
> But those are other stories that I will never write because they don't have kick ass sorceresses transcending realms and creating new worlds and falling in love. This story has all of those things. Also Goddesses.
> 
> Thanks to redmusings for kicking my butt. It's all her fault I'm posting this before it's finished. Thanks also to watergatescandelous, oparu, burningexistence, and shadowdianne for listening patiently to me while I complain and throw things.

\--

True love isn't easy. You have to fight for it because once you find it, it can never be replaced.

\--

Without you, the whole of the realms is pain. 

Every scent and gust,  
every pressure and release.  
You are everywhere,  
and yet I cannot find you.  
You are everything,  
and yet I am alone.  
I entwine my arms around this body,  
pretending I am you and I together. 

Together.  
Together.  
My power, my love, together.  
The power of all, and yet  
yet so few apprehend it.  
So few know together.  
Such power, and it lies dormant.  
These hundred years I have spent searching, unresting, unceasing, insatiable in my search for you. I have stalked the sands and soils of countless realms; I have seen the unfolding of myth and the inception of legend. I have stayed my hands and magic, except when my purpose calls. And though I go where I am needed, where my presence is required, and my duty is my life, 

you are my living.  
You are my breathing,  
and I will not stop my search,  
this tremulous unfolding,  
until we have found each other again.

And if it happens that all I have been chasing are my memories of you; if it happens that you have long since flown, 

I will still find you. 

Even unto the end of all that we call living.

–

She was plain, he thought. Plain, yet oddly transfixing. But she was not beautiful, not ugly, just plain. If asked, he would be unable to describe her except to say, She was. She was here. Just here. Youth and age meshed in the eyes and demeanor of the plain woman. Perhaps the apparent integration of that dichotomy compelled him to approach her and say, 

“Excuse me, ma'am. Are you lost?” 

As soon the words passed his lips he thought himself foolish. She was not lost, she could never be lost, he thought, and yet she said,

“I believe I am, sir.” Her voice was kind. A gentle voice, and he realized then that the birds seemed nearer to her, and the branches of the trees seemed to bow towards her, as if yearning to touch her. But perhaps it was the sun glaring in his eye that made things seem strange. Too much light, perhaps.

Yes. Too much light.

“I can take you to the town,” he said, knowing a newcomer would arouse suspicion. But he could hardly see the harm in helping such a plain, innocuous woman. 

A woman with whom the birds were well at ease. 

–

Her pen clattered on the top of her desk. Within the space of a breath she had parted the drapes and stood staring out the window, the skin around her eyes creased in consternation. What was that, that—that newness? That power? She felt it beckon at her throat, her heart, stomach and hips, and arriving at the turn of a season, indistinct, yet unmistakable. She had barely noticed the mounting thrum over the tedious scratch of civic paperwork. 

But noticed what? All was different, yet all was the same, only heightened. 

Her gut clenched. Whatever it was, it required her attention far more than requisitions and budget proposals. She whipped her phone from her pocket and sent a quick text before sweeping out the door.

–

“Did you feel that?”

His tone and tension warned her to stillness. Only her eyes darted around the room. She shook her head. “I didn't feel anything. Don't,” she quickly amended. “I don't feel anything.” 

“Shh,” he whispered, but not harshly. “There was—“ There was something, like the swelling of a wave or the rise of steam in a teakettle. Undetected until the crash, until the whistle blew. And it was still mounting.

“Rumple?” 

He brushed his finger along her cheek. “Don't worry,” he began, but she grabbed his hand.

“I'm coming with you,” she said. “We go together now.” 

“Very well,” he conceded. Crossing the room in quick strides, he pulled a talisman from the glass case. “Wear this,” he told her. “It will protect you—should that be necessary.”

Belle smiled. “I'll wear it,” she told him. “But I know I won't need it as long as you're with me.”

He could not help but return her smile. “Let's go,” he told her. 

–

“Crap.”

“What's wrong?”

“We're out of cinnamon.”

“We do use it a lot.”

Emma frowned. “Operation Hot Chocolate—thwarted by a bare pantry.”

“Can you magic us some cinnamon?” Henry asked. “The kind that Mom gets. It's different from--”

Emma gasped and doubled over, clutching the edge of the counter. A wall of vertigo hit her, and she felt propelled several hundred feet into the air, though she was vaguely aware of her feet never leaving the linoleum tile. Cold gripped the core of her stomach and washed through her limbs, followed immediately by roiling heat. The atmosphere crackled.

Magic. She breathed deeply, focusing on the soft whistle of air through her nostrils. Magic. Regina had warned her that spikes and ebbs in surrounding magic would effect her. Her list of possible effects read like the warning label on a particularly potent prescription drug. Her mind felt magnetized and alive, more alive than usual. 

_It's important to learn the difference between depletion and restoration, Regina had said. The symptoms can be the same, especially in the beginning, but the effects are quite different. Depletion would kill you if it went on long enough. Restoration—is unlike anything in your current catalog of experience._

“Mom!” Henry said, and ran to her side. “What's wrong?” 

“Magic,” she told him as he helped her into a chair. “I don't--” Her phone chimed, and she nodded towards her coat draped over the chair beside her. Henry dug out her phone and handed it to her, but she shook her head. Her fingers felt glued together and her brain was too taxed to bother with moving her arms and legs or keeping open her eyes.

She focused on the soft and steady stream of her breath into her lungs. In and out. _Don't fight it,_ she—felt? Told herself? Knew? One of those things, maybe. Magic was weird. But _Don't fight it._

Don't fight it. Easier said than done when her internal organs were blistering and turning inside out.

“It's Mom,” he said. “Something's up.”

“No shit,” Emma said.

“Can you make it to the diner?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

Henry's eyes sparkled hopefully. “I can drive you.”

“Nice try.”

–

“Do you need anything?” Little John asked the woman as she settled into one of the red booths. “Water? Tea? Something to eat? Granny makes an excellent BLT.” 

“Granny makes an excellent everything, young man,” Granny called from behind the counter. She smiled curtly at the woman, inclining her head, and surreptitiously watched her over the wire rim of her glasses as she polished the already gleaming countertop. 

The woman smiled. “Water would be welcome,” she said. “Thank you.”

Little John bounded to the counter to fetch a glass of water. 

“Who is that?” Granny hissed at him.

The man shrugged. “I found her in the woods. She looked like she needed help.” Scowling made Granny look older than she was, Little John observed. And decidedly meaner.

“Things just calmed down, and you go taking in riffraff,” Granny said, sloshing water into a glass and sliding it across the counter to him. “One day of peace and quiet isn't too much to ask.”

“She needs help,” Little John insisted. “We help people. It seemed like a good match.” He looked over his shoulder at the woman sitting in the booth who was calmly observing the diner and its occupants. “Besides,” he said. “She would've found the town eventually.”

“You oaf,” Granny said. “The town is cloaked. No one is supposed to be able to find us.” Her eyes blazed. “No one normal anyway.” 

Little John immediately stilled. “Oh,” he said. “Right.”

“Yeah,” Granny said, shifting her focus to the woman in the booth. “You betcha 'oh,'” she said. “You're talking to the Royals once they get here, and they will get here. They have a sense for this kinda thing.”

Immediately the door opened, and Regina swept into the diner, zeroing in on the new face. “Hello,” she said, attempting the approximation of a smile. “Who are you?” 

“I may ask you the same question, dear,” the woman said, smiling warmly. 

“Regina Mills. Mayor of Storybrooke,” Regina said, her arms crossed over her torso. “And you are?”

The woman smiled. “Is that the question you really want to ask me?” 

“Your name,” Regina said, her irritation palpable. “What is your name? I am assuming you have one.”

“Moira,” she said. “My name is Moira. And no, I am not from this world, but I am from yours. Originally, at least.” 

“Well!” Little John said. “Storybrooke is your home then!”

“Not so fast, Friar Tuck,” Regina said.

“But if she--” Little John protested.

Regina turned on him, her eyes blazing. Little John obediently sat at the counter, and Regina wheeled back to Moira. 

“Am I a prisoner?” Moira asked.

“You have magic,” Regina said. It was an understatement. The closer she had come to the diner, the stronger her awareness of Moira's magic had grown. She had never experienced that with a person, however. Magical artifacts and relics, enchanted objects, yes; but never a person. If an individual possessed magic, it pervaded only their immediate vicinity. Usually. But Moira's magic was not only a power, but a heightening of what already was. Or so it seemed. 

“I do,” Moira confirmed. “Does that make me a prisoner?”

“You.” 

Regina spun to see Gold's eyes fixed on Moira. He was shocked or angry or both, his magic surging with the added fire. Gold's power thrived on his anger and his pain. Near to him now, Regina felt her own dark energy stirring, agitated by Gold's fervor. But focused on Moira, Regina felt a very different sensation. This was deeper and far stronger than her darkness. For only a moment, Regina focused on that strength, and immediately her mind was beholden to--

Regina's eyes widened. 

Moira had Light Magic. Very powerful, very potent Light Magic.

–

“You're a myth,” Gold said, corralling Belle behind him with one hand. 

Moira chuckled. “I could say the same about you. Any of you,” she said, gesturing around the diner.

Gold shook his head. “No, no, dearie,” he said. “Tales are different. Tales are closer in.” He narrowed his eyes and ambled to Regina's side. “You know that.”

Moira smiled, a welcoming, lazy splay of lips and teeth echoed in her posture. “Indeed I do.” 

“Gold,” Regina said. “Do you know this woman?”

Gold shook his head. “Only the stories, and they are few.”

Again the bell on the door rang, and David and Mary Margaret came in with Neal cradled against his mother's chest in a baby sling. A hand shot out to catch the door before it closed and Henry and Emma entered, Emma's arm slung around his shoulders, her skin pale and shiny with perspiration.

“You're just in time for Gold's announcement,” Moira said.

“Who the hell are you?” Emma asked.

Gold glanced at the newcomers. “This,” he said grudgingly, “is the Light One.”

“The what now?” Emma asked. 

“The Light One,” Moira said, “but you can call me Moira. Everyone does. Well, they would if they knew me, which most—“ She shrugged, her smile and heightened doeish eyes still firmly in place. “Most can't.”

“The Light One?” Regina asked. Turning to Gold she said, “As in...?”

“As in my opposite,” he affirmed. “As I said, I thought her existence a myth. Had I even suspected she was real, I would've—well,” he glanced at Belle and trailed off.

“You would've tried to kill me,” Moira said.

“As much power as you have,” he said. “To gain it? Yes, I would.”

Moira laughed. “You know nothing about Light Magic. Different purposes and all that.”

“Why have you come?” Regina asked. Emma noted the underlying note of caution in Regina's voice. It was the same note that rang when she said _mind the vases_ and _watch the peripheral energy_ during her magic lessons. 

“Because I need your help,” Moira said. “And you need mine.”

“You need our help?” Gold asked, the question goading his own chuckle. 

“I need the aid of the two most powerful magic users in this realm who aren't beholden to the powers of darkness,” she said, looking from Regina and then to Emma.

Emma balked. “Oh, not me,” she said. “I—I blew up a lamp yesterday and nearly caught the apartment on fire.”

“Still,” Moira said. “You are one of the most powerful sorceresses in this realm.”

“What exactly do you need their help to do?” David asked.

Moira took a deep breath. “The center of the matrix has come unbalanced,” she said.

Gold smirked. “Oh, you are in deep, aren't you, dearie?”

“I was not the one who made the imbalance,” Moira stated, her unflappable air coming a bit unzipped, “but it is my duty to bring balance again.”

“...what does that mean exactly?” Mary Margaret asked at the same time Henry asked, “How do we help?”

“Hang on a second, kid,” Emma said. “Stable those--” She broke off. “Oh, god,” she mumbled. Ringing—everything was ringing, and she was swaying or the room was swaying and she clutched Henry's shoulder to help stabilize herself. Henry wrapped his arm around her waist, and helped her to the booth behind Moira.

“What can I get you, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked.

She wanted her easy Saturday morning with Henry. She wanted a belly full of cinnamon hot chocolate, pancakes and slightly overcooked eggs doused in ketchup. But that was impossible now, so Emma shook her head and immediately regretted it.

“Emma,” Moira said softly. “Close your eyes and envision a light in front of you.”

Emma groaned to herself. Envisioning imaginary lights was more nauseating than overcooked eggs. She wanted control of her powers, she really did, and Regina excelled at helping her (she really did), 

but the second Regina said _focus on the light_ or _your power is within you_ or anything that sounded remotely like it originated in a woowoo spiritualist culty drug den of love and rainbow kisses, her eye-rolling, milk-snorting smirk reflex kicked in.

Because really? _Really?_

“Thanks. I'll pass,” Emma told her. “So far, the only one vouching for you is the Dark One and that's not exactly a mark in your favor, lady.”

Moira smiled, Belle scowled, and Gold conceded her point.

Regina slipped into the booth opposite Emma and held her hand out across the table. “Take it,” Regina said softly and firmly, in a tone Emma was certain she used for phrases like _bed now_ and _no sweets before dinner_ and _floss, please_. Emma puffed her chest and crossed her ankles because while Regina's touch did settle her magic (and her stomach), holding the woman's hand in front of her parents (and half the town) was weird.

Weird and soothing, but weird and the impetus for a wretchedly confusing tangle of amorphous emotional detritus Emma wasn't quite sure what to do with.

As soon as their hands touched, Emma felt a jolt shoot downwards through her spine and out her feet and breathed a little easier as the muddling weight of magic cleared a bit. She regained her breath and her footing and squashed the impulse to squeeze Regina's hand in thanks. She settled for a small smile--

which shifted into a frown when she caught a predatory glimpse in Moira's expression as the woman glanced at their joined hands.

“I imagine it will take you awhile to sort out how you feel about my arrival,” Moira said, “and even longer to decide if you can be bothered to aid in the restoration of the center.” She flowed out of the booth and onto her feet. “I trust you have a place for me to stay while you deliberate.”

“Out of the question,” Regina said.

“Of course we do,” Mary Margaret countered, cradling Neal's head as she gently bounced him. “I'm sure Granny has extra rooms.” She shrank visibly at the glares Regina and Emma shot her, and took a step back when David folded his arms across his chest, his head cocked and eyes narrowed. “What? She seems nice,” she mumbled.

“So did Zelena,” Regina said. She let go of Emma's hand and stood, tugging at the hem of her blazer to smooth it and said, “One would think you would've learned that nice does not mean good, nor does it mean trustworthy.” Regina razed her eyes across Moira's frame. The easy side slant of the woman's head, the cheer in her eyes too heightened, her kindness too apparent. She wore her good nature like Regina wore her wit; as armor and shield and weapon. “In my experience,” Regina continued, “nice translates either to vapidity or duplicity. You are not vapid, so I can't help but think you're hiding something.”

Moira smiled, a dull, pasted on affectation, and Emma thought she caught a whiff of menace underscored by panic. But as quickly as the sensation arrived, it vanished. 

“I am sorry that has been your experience, my dear,” Moira told Regina. “But I assure you, I am hiding nothing.” She smiled graciously at those gathered. “I will be in the forest since I am not yet welcome in the town proper.” Moira swept between Gold and Mary Margaret and turned once she got to the door. “I will be back tomorrow to hear the outcome of your decision. But I ask you not to take my warning lightly. The center is unbalanced, and only with your help,” she pegged Regina and Emma with a heady glance, “will it be righted.”

She left, and those gathered in the diner let out a collective breath at her departure. Emma laid her forehead on the cool tabletop and concentrated on not vomiting the breakfast she didn't eat. Two heel clicks, two footsteps, and a hand landed gently on her shoulder. The magical interference lessened, the emotional upheaval returned, but in the midst of it, Emma managed, “Who the hell let her into Storybrooke?”

“Friar Tuck,” Regina muttered, one hand on her hip.

“Little John?” Emma asked, looking up at her. 

“Whatever.” Regina sighed, and turned to Gold. “What do you know about her? Or, rather, who she claims to be.”

“Oh, she's the Light One all right,” Gold told her. “You felt her magic.”

Emma grunted softly in agreement, and Regina placed her hand at the base of Emma's neck, gently modulating the residual traces of Moira's presence. Emma felt the magic lessen further and breathed a bit more easily.

“What did she mean about the center being unbalanced?” Henry asked. “She made it sound important.”

Gold shrugged. “It is,” he said, “if it's true.”

“Given her penchant for manipulation,” Regina said casting a glance at Little John whose bulk was bent over a cup of coffee in a corner booth, “I seriously doubt the validity of her claim.”

“You don't know she's being manipulative,” Mary Margaret said. “We need to consider the possibility that she has a legitimate need for our help.”

“Zelena had a legitimate need for my heart, Gold's brain, Charming's courage, and your baby,” Regina pointed out. 

“That was different,” Mary Margaret protested. “She was--”

“Wicked,” Regina said, her eyes wide and scathing. “Manipulative, cunning, deceitful.”

“Storybrooke's tourists tend to be troublemakers,” Emma added. “And curse casting lunatics.” She glanced at Regina. “Present company presently excluded.”

_“But what does the center thing mean?”_ Henry reiterated.

“It means that the universe is in jeopardy,” Gold said simply.

“Oh good lord,” Emma muttered. “The _universe?_ Seriously?” She just wanted to eat eggs and toast with her kid. “I liked it better when it was only Storybrooke in peril.”

“Well,” Mary Margaret breathed, clutching Neal a bit closer, “that certainly sounds like a legitimate problem we should take it seriously.”

Regina rolled her eyes.

“Even if she's not one hundred percent trustworthy,” David said.

Regina groaned.

“Yeah, but,” Henry began, his worry furrowing his eyebrows, “but _why_ does she need my moms?” He looked over at each of them in turn, and said, “I get that you guys are powerful, but there've gotta be other sorceresses. Like, in realms where there's _supposed_ to be magic.”

“And who don't start their parents' apartments on fire,” Emma added. 

“You didn't start it on fire,” Regina told her.

“Close enough,” Emma grumbled.

“It was a difficult spell.”

“That nearly destroyed the apartment.”

“It could do with redecoration.”

“Mary Margaret _likes_ that painting--”

“I hate to interrupt your little lover's quarrel and intrude reality into family affairs,” Gold interjected, “but a threat to all of us wanders the woods.”

Regina yanked her hand from Emma's neck, crossed her arms in front of her body and stood a little straighter. 

Emma glared at Gold.

David, Mary Margaret, and Belle shifted uncomfortably. 

Henry hid a smile.

Gold smirked.

“Why do you suddenly care about anyone who's not you?” Emma asked.

“I care because her presence threatens my family,” Gold said. “Myself, my wife, and my grandson. Insofar as I agree with your methods and goals, I will help you.”

“Your ability to make selfishness appear magnanimous is truly astonishing,” Regina drolled.

David glanced around the diner, which had become too purposefully silent, and rested his hands on his hips. “I suggest we take this conversation some place a bit more private,” he said softly. 

“Mayor's office,” Mary Margaret agreed, already turning towards the door, David right behind her and Gold following at a distance.

“Can I come?” Henry asked hopefully.

“No,” his mothers said, one more sharply than the other.

“You can come with me,” Belle offered. “I'd like some help categorizing the graphic novels in the library.” 

“That sounds way more fun than sorting cookbooks like last week.”

“Doesn't it?”

Henry smiled at Belle, but he fumbled it when he turned back to his mothers. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead flung his arms around Regina, holding her close and tight and, she felt, a bit fearfully. And concern flustered her forehead because this--

this was his  
_mommy? I had a bad dream_ hug from when he was five  
and his _the kids at school are jerks and I hate them_ hug from a few years previous.  
It was _Momma, I'm scared,_  
and _can you leave the light on?_  
and _Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it_  
and _please, no, please, please don't leave yet._

She hugged him back  
with her arms full of _I love you, darling boy,_  
and _oh, my dear, you are so, so safe now._

“It's all right,” she told him softly, her chin pressed into his hair, and every inhale carried that good Henry smell of cedar and cinnamon and rainfall. 

“Why does she want _you_?” he asked, his voice muffled by her shoulder. Regina felt one of his hands drop from her waist and knew by the subtle twist in his body that he had stretched it out towards Emma. “I don't like it,” he said. “It doesn't feel right.”

“No,” Emma agreed. “It doesn't.”

“We'll figure it out, Henry,” Regina assured him, and kissed the top of his head.

“I can help,” Henry offered, pulling out of Regina's arms to look at her. Their eyes were nearly level now. She wasn't sure when that happened. “I'm really good at solving mysteries and spying on people.”

“Yeah, well, your moms aren't so good with you being in the line of fire,” Emma said, deliberately ignoring his admission that he was good at spying on people because it wasn't the sort of ability mothers were supposed to take pride in and yet she did.

“Not that there's a line of fire,” Regina added quickly.

_“Yet_ ,” Henry said pointedly. “No line of fire _yet._ ”

“Why don't you and Belle see what you can dig up about the Light One?” Regina suggested.

Henry's eyes lit up. “Or Moira. Belle has tons of old storybooks. One of them has to have something.” He smiled. “Good idea, Mom.” He leaned up and kissed her cheek, and then leaned over the table and kissed Emma's. “Just--” He bit his lip and cast a glance to Emma. “Just don't go off on some weird adventure without telling me, okay?” 

Emma drew a quick breath. Her stint as a time traveler had unsettled him. Of course it had. She had disappeared without warning or trace. 

_“You were gone,” he said, “and no one knew.”_

_“I'm back now,” she told him, smiling, and rubbed his arm, the warm and brisk back-forth an attempt to assuage his fear._

_“But,” he whispered, his face a folded over question and his body a worried slump. “...how are we supposed to find you if we don't even know you're missing?”_

She had hugged the hell out of him, and though she wasn't quite used to someone wanting to find her—not yet—she knew what it was like to be left. She promised then she would never leave him, knowing as her mind formed the words and her lips and tongue gave them sound that it wasn't a promise she could promise to keep.

“We'll do our best,” she said softly, and he nodded, his hair flopping into his eyes and out again. 

Henry shouldered his backpack. “Love you guys,” he said.

“Love you, kid.”

“I love you, too, Henry.”

The bell chimed his exit, and Regina raised her eyebrows at Emma. “If we don't get there soon, your mother will have planned our visitor's welcome banquet and convinced the dwarves to give her a guided tour.”

“Wasn't she a bandit?” Emma asked, and would've partially admitted to partial whining. “You'd think she'd have better instincts.”

“Instinct is not one of Snow's strongest suits,” Regina said, offering Emma a hand up. “She prefers to think the best of everyone.”

“Admirable,” Emma said, taking the proffered hand, “but flawed.” She groaned as she rose to her feet. “And a good way to get yourself killed.”

“Or your newborn kidnapped.”

Either Emma or the room wobbled, and Emma wasn't sure which. She clutched at Regina, and Regina took Emma's hand and tucked it under her arm, holding it solidly against her side and led them to the door.

“Let's get you some fresh air,” Regina said.

“That works for magical hangovers, too?”

Regina smirked. “It does.”

“What about greasy bar food? Does that help?”

Regina shuddered. “Like I would have any idea. But I've known chocolate to be curative in several cases of magical overwhelm.”

“Seriously?” Emma stopped, gaping at her. “That's a legit magic thing?”

“After four months of lessons, I believe I have proven myself a trustworthy teacher,” Regina said, a bit wounded. “And why on earth would I lie about chocolate of all things?”

“Because it's--”

Regina hated Harry Potter. Regina hated Harry Potter with a Rumpelstiltskin-Snow-White-Blue Fairy-dwarf-level passion. Finding an actual parallel between 'that heinous hocus pocus' and real magic would---

\--greatly upset her.

Emma feared for the continued existence of the faded pine tree wallpaper

and the red plastic booths

the melamine tables  
the patrons  
Granny  
hell, all of it,  
if Regina found out that there was a parallel between her neat little magical world and Hogwarts.

Even though Emma was taking magic lessons  
and crafting potions  
and defending herself against dark magic  
and being encouraged to eat chocolate to help balance everything out.

“Yes?” Regina prompted.

Emma smiled. “It's a wonderful excuse to always have chocolate on my person.”

“Well, then, you're welcome.”


	2. Chapter 2

It's going to be all right. Remember, I'm the savior.  
–

“We should seriously consider her request,” Mary Margaret was saying as Regina and Emma filed into the mayor's office, and Regina rolled her eyes.

“As her request hinges on our compliance,” Regina said, indicating herself and Emma, “perhaps it would behoove you to consider our input before you finalize your decision.”

Mary Margaret frowned. “But it would be for the good of everyone.”

“This isn't the Enchanted Forest,” Emma said, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Storybrooke is not your kingdom, you are not royalty, and I am not a princess you can order around.” She glared at each of her parents in turn, and then sighed and leaned against the table. “I love you guys, and I value what you have to say, but ultimately, the decision is mine.” She glanced at Regina. “Well, ours.”

Regina nodded her agreement. “I refuse to make any decision based solely on the word of a stranger.” She cocked her head at Gold. “You're up,” she said. “Tell us what you know.”

Gold breathed a laugh. “You won't trust the Light One, but you will trust the word of the Dark One?”

“Oh, I don't trust you,” Regina assured him, sailing across the gulf between them. “You're a cockroach. But you're a cockroach who may have information that we need in order to protect your wife and your grandson.”

“Who are also our family, just FYI,” Emma interjected.

“And as you said, you will do what is necessary to protect your family, for which you need us--”

“--who are also your grandson's family--”

“--a grandson who would be quite distraught--”

“--and hate you for eternity--”

“--if you happened to omit any tidbit of information that might be of consequence.” Regina's eyebrows arched her forehead and she crossed her arms expectantly. “So, Gold. What say you?”

Gold's narrowed eyes bore into Regina, but she stood solidly unflappable. “She is my opposite,” he said finally. “In every way.”

“She's a fluffy, cuddly bunny who gives daisies to children and fulfills their every wish without waving a contract in their faces?” Mary Margaret asked. “How lovely.”

Gold spared a long glance for Mary Margaret. She shifted and averted the gaze. He looked back to Regina. “She has light magic,” he said, “and only light magic, but she is bound to the Powers as I am bound to the knife.”

“What the hell are the Powers?” Emma asked. 

“I doubt even Moira knows the answer to that question,” Gold told her. “She has all of Their Power, but can only wield it in keeping with Their agenda.”

“What's Their agenda?” Regina asked.

Gold laughed softly. “Wrong One, dearie,” he said. “To know that, you'd have to ask Moira. But it's doubtful she's aware of it.”

“So she's a pawn,” Emma said.

“Apostle, pawn,” Gold said. “Yes, she is.”

“What's the center?” David asked. “She said something about the center.”

“The center of all the realms and worlds,” he said with sigh, “throughout all of time and space. The center must remain balanced or things begin to—unravel.”

Emma blanched, and grabbed Regina's arm. “Do you think Hook and I screwed up the past somehow?” she asked. “I mean, we brought Marian back with us. She's not _technically_ supposed to be here.” She hazarded a glance at Regina, and winced internally at the woman's subtle tension. 

“How do you know she's not supposed to be here?” Gold asked.

Emma frowned. “I--” she stopped, her mind a sudden frenzy of deductions. “I don't.” 

“Exactly,” Gold said. “Could be she was meant to come back with you.” He cast Regina a small, haughty smile. “To find her true love again after she was so tragically ripped away from him.”

“Oh, please,” Regina sneered. “Like you didn't tear families apart in the Enchanted Forest.”

Despite her bravado, Emma felt Regina's magic spike and caught the faintest whiff of a crackle, the trace of a spark. She squeezed Regina's arm in an attempt to stay the impending fire. Emma felt Regina's muscles tighten further beneath the gray polyester fabric, but the magic thinned out. The crackle dissipated. 

Gold's eyes trained on Emma's hand. His bottom eyelids crinkled and then smoothed. 

“So if it's not about their stint in the Enchanted Forest, what is she here for?” David asked, his gaze flicking from Emma's hand on Regina's arm and back to Gold.

“Again,” Gold said, “you are asking the wrong person. All I know is that no one does anything without reason, especially not me and especially not her. If you want to know her motivations, I suggest you ask her yourself.”

Emma sighed. “Fine,” she said. She tugged Regina towards the door. “Let's go--”

“We can't trust her,” Regina bit out, unmoving. “I see no point in--”

“What if something really is wrong?” Emma asked her. “What if Henry's in danger? The whole town? Hell, the world?”

“The world suffers from a preponderance of imbeciles and is never not on the brink of collapse,” Regina said, crossing her arms at her waist. Consternation wrinkled the ridge between her eyebrows. “And you sound like your mother.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Mary Margaret said.

“No,” Regina said. “Just occasionally unfortunate.”

“I sound like me,” Emma countered, ignoring them. “You just don't like what I'm saying.” She took a step towards Regina. “It's us she wants, and if she really is as powerful as Gold says she is, she could force her hand. She hasn't done that.”

“Yet.”

“Well, it's something.” Emma folded her arms across her stomach. “I'm going to talk to her with or without you.”

Regina sniffed a laugh. “You? You'd be retching over the nearest log before you could get a word out.”

“Guess you're gonna have to come with me, then,” Emma said. The morning light filtering in through the window got caught in her eyes and amplified their inherent gleam.

Regina pretended to ignore it. “Subtle,” she said.

“I thought so.” Emma held her gaze for a second longer than propriety demanded, and wheeled back to her parents. “We're going to go find a sorceress in the woods.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mary Margaret sighed, “don't put it that way. That sort of thing never ends well.”

“Then we're going to go talk to someone who may or may not have a diabolical plot to destroy the universe.”

Regina arched an eyebrow. “Your parents tried that before you were born, dear.” She turned and pushed both doors wide open. “And let me assure you, there is no stopping anyone hellbent on destruction.” She led Emma out of the office, her heels echoing through the hall.

“I would've found a way,” Emma muttered, half smiling, that light still glinting her eye.

“Like hell you would've,” Regina huffed. “You didn't know me pre-Henry.”

“I met you in the past,” Emma said. “Princess Leia at your service, your majesty.”

“Oh, right,” Regina said, her nose wrinkling. “Never call me that again.”

“Never, your majesty.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Child.”

–

Mary Margaret listened intently to Regina and Emma's conversation as the pair exited the building, shushing David when he began to speak. 

“Do you--” she began, but then stopped and shook her head, laughing at herself. “No, that's ridiculous.”

Then Emma's laughter bubbled through the tiled hallway, underscored by Regina's unmistakable chuckle.

Laughter. Chuckling.

Together.

The Savior and the Evil Queen.

Laughing. Together.  
Together, laughing.

“David...” she said slowly, warningly, frightened in the way only a mother can be frightened and twittering as only Snow White could.

“I see it,” he told her. His voice was soft, comforting, even. Always the steady pull to her frantic push.

“I told Regina many years ago that the Savior would be her undoing,” Gold said.

Mary Margaret's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed pink. “You knew this would happen?!” Neal awoke at the force of her outburst, and she handed him off to David, who scrambled his arms around their son. Mary Margaret closed the gap between her and Gold in three long, quick strides, her fists clenched. “Why didn't you tell us?”

Gold smiled. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” He winked at her and turned on one heel and walked easily and steadily from the room.

“I don't like him,” Mary Margaret said.

“No one does. Except Belle.”

Mary Margaret's shoulders caved and she clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “They have been spending an awful lot of time together,” she said.

“They've been inseparable for weeks.”

“I guess it's...kind of romantic,” she said. “Emma and Regina together, I mean,” but then she frowned. “Do you think they know?”

David stood beside her, bouncing Neal to calm him. “Oh, I don't think they have the foggiest idea.”

Her head canted away from him, her expression still a puzzle. “Do we tell them?”

“Of course not,” he said. “We're parents and ex-arch nemeses. We stay the hell out of it and let them figure it out.” He began swaying in place as Neal's discomforted cries grew in volume. “When Emma's ready, she'll tell us and we'll be delightfully surprised. We will offer to hold a banquet in their honor, as per Enchanted Forest custom. Emma will be embarrassed at the idea and politely decline. Regina will be horrified and it will all be worth it to see the expression on her face when we insist.”

“But what if they don't?” Mary Margaret asked. 

“Then we hold a banquet sans Regina's horror, though that option isn't nearly as appealing.”

Mary Margaret slapped his shoulder with the back of her hand. “You ninny,” she said. “What if they don't figure it out?”

“I have a feeling they will.”

“But I'm her mother and I need to worry about something.”

David smiled and kissed her temple. “Then by all means. But she's also on her way to meet a sorceress in the woods. That may be more worrisome than her love life.”

“Oh, no,” Mary Margaret said. “No, no, no, no, David. On the maternal scale of worry, those two circumstances are equally weighted.”

“I had no idea there was a scale.”

“Of course there is!” 

David purposely failed to smother his smile. “Emma is strong and competent, Snow. And she's with Regina. I don't think you have anything to worry about.”

“Oh, honey, there is no power on earth strong enough to stop a mother's worry,” she told him. “Not even true love.”

“What about footwear?”

“The accumulation of footwear is a result of a mother's worry.”

“Ah,” David said. “So all of the tales are wrong then. A mother's worry is the greatest magic of all.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, smiling. “It has the power to create insomnia and indigestion, to turn one's hair prematurely gray and incite shopping sprees at footwearfrenzy.com.”

“And who wants happiness when they could have indigestion and a new pair of shoes?”

“I knew you'd understand.”

–

They walked hand in hand through the forest.

Out of necessity.

Necessity pulsed between their palms, and necessity ripped and rolled their fingers across the soft skin of the other's hand. Necessity drove Emma to grasp and pull so tightly and so certainly at Regina when Regina tripped on a root and nearly face planted into a stand of Devil's Club.

It was also necessity that found Emma's hand on Regina's waist to help stabilize her and necessity that compelled her to brush an errant bit of forest off the chest of Regina's blazer.

Necessity.

But they walked hand in hand through the forest, and the mounting intensity of Moira's magic made Emma's inability to form coherent thoughts, let alone verbalize sentences, increasingly problematic. And through that chink in her control came a bumbling parade of inchoate and rebellious feelings all instigated by the press of her flesh against Regina's and by the comforting and familiar buzz of the woman's magic.

A magic that snapped perfectly in line with her own. A magic that resonated in her bones, a magic that she knew without knowing how she knew it—she just did. 

And that was weird and exhilarating and terrifying and just so _Regina_ and so goddamn _homey_ and warm and lovely and

she wanted to run,  
run screaming,  
run quick-quick-quick,  
and run—just run.  
_Run._  
From all of it.  
Whatever _it_ was.

The it that had no name,  
but the it that was undoing her  
because this it always ended.

And the end was never happy.

“...have some kind of plan,” Regina was saying and Emma shook herself and came up with a vacant, “What?” in response to what was undoubtedly an articulate and well-structured sentence, complete with a witty turn of phrase.

Emma winced and uttered a, “Sorry,” but Regina only shook her head. 

“You're fritzing,” she told Emma.

“Fritzing?”

“Yes.” She stopped walking and Emma pulled up beside her. “Focus on your magic,” Regina said.

Emma sighed. “Do we really have time--”

“Hush. Yes. Focus on your magic.”

Emma scowled, but closed her eyes anyway.

“Don't change it. Just notice it.”

Noticing her magic was like suddenly realizing she was outside during an electrical storm, having been oblivious to the falling branches, sideways winds, and drooping, sparking power lines. She felt—lines? cords?--whipping wickedly around her like thousands of live tentacles that were a part of her, yet she felt powerless to control. But they (it?) smoothed and eased when they came anywhere near Regina. They snapped and stuck and stayed calm, pulsing white and golden light.

“Why does my magic calm down near you?” she asked. “I'm a fan, don't get me wrong. Not exploding things is a huge plus.”

Several twigs snapped as Regina shuffled her stance and the hand in Emma's loosened, tightened, trembled, and she heard Regina say, “Sometimes teachers can influence their student's magic.”

Regina's voice was tight and caught high in her throat, and her magic sputtered for a second.

Emma opened one eye. “Sometimes?”

Regina's eyes traveled the edge of a moss eaten windfall a few meters away. “Mmhm,” was all she said.

“But that doesn't make sense,” Emma said, both eyes now open. “Why would teachers only sometimes be able to influence their student's magic?” 

Regina's expression tightened

\--Emma frowned when she felt Regina's magic lace right up like a corset—

but Regina kept her gaze firmly fixed ahead, her feet firmly rooted to the ground. Regina felt her chest flush and willed the color to stay hidden beneath the silk of her shirt. Her heartbeat muffled the bird calls in her ears; her heartbeat pounded out a quick, quick rhythm like footfalls, like pacing, like back-forth, back-forth hummingbird wings and cricket legs and crinkled, suffocating static and silence of what she

could not say.

She could not answer Emma's question. 

The answer stuck her throat,  
the answer pinned her tongue; her answer--

she could not articulate her answer.

Bird wings and cricket legs  
and two teaspoons  
of paralyzing doubt  
dusted with the salt  
of her childhood tears.

“What a lovely surprise!” Moira stood too suddenly by the windfall, too obviously pleasant, too obviously at ease. Too obvious. Too, too obvious.

Emma clutched her stomach and clenched Regina's hand, muttered, “Oh, god,” and fell in a half-seated heap on the forest floor. Regina knelt next her, her free hand landing on Emma's back and running back-forth circles across the dark and worn and hard chilled leather. She glowered at Moira.

But Moira seemed oblivious to or uninterested in Regina's ire, and slanted her head to the side, her eyes gleaming yet vacant, 

_plastic plastic,_  
_pieces of her seemed_  
_so plastic_

her movements verging on mechanical, her eyes trained on Emma. 

Emma's hand at her stomach softened and her pained expression turned to incredulity. The electrical storm of Emma's magic had vanished as suddenly as it had crested. 

“Thanks,” Emma said, slowly rising to her feet, her eyes trained sidelong on Moira. 

“It's the least I can do,” Moira told her. “My apologies for not thinking of it at that lovely dining establishment.”

“S'ok,” Emma said, her eyes still narrowed in her still sidelong gaze. 

Moira approached them like prey. “Have you reached a decision?” she asked. “We haven't a great deal of time.”

“Not quite. We need more information,” Regina told her.

Moira's smile faded. “But I have given you all the information you need.”

“No,” Regina said, drawing out the word. “You have not.”

“You need us and presumably our magic to sidekick some cosmic balancing act,” Emma said.

“Which I find hard to believe given that you are, again presumably, the Light One,” Regina added.

“Just because I am the Light One does not mean I do not call on others to help me,” Moira said. She arched her eyebrow at Regina. “The Dark One could not have cast his curse without your help, dearest.”

“Because _he's_ the thing he loves the most,” Regina said. “Casting the curse himself would've meant his own death.” She huffed derisively. “That's the best example you could come up with?”

Moira tilted her head, wondering. “You are ashamed of your actions?”

“It wasn't one of my better moments,” Regina said softly, and Emma squeezed her hand.

But Moira laughed. “My dear, my _dear_!” she exclaimed. “How can you _possibly_ be certain of that?” Regina blanched at Moira's apparent amusement. “Do you know the alternate routes you could've taken? Have you seen precisely how your actions have effected the world you know? You have experienced the derision of your people, yes, but they would find something to make themselves unhappy whether or not you had cast the curse.” Moira stepped closely in towards them, her eyes radiant with an internal light. “They are quick to judge and quick to blame. Quick to hate and slow, so _slow_ , to love.” She smiled. “Those who hate the quickest are quickest to condemn themselves, and those who burn brightest in their hatred are those who cling to love with every fiber they possess,” she glanced from Regina to Emma and back again, “and yet they fear it.” 

She turned again her eyes, her eyes like whirring drills, to Emma, whose spine straightened in a wave and a burst, and whose eyebrows, thighs and feet pinched when Moira said, “And some fear it so entirely, fear the freedom and the joy of it, they force themselves into oblivion.” Emma tensed as she felt those drills bore wells across the plane of her body, penetrating past it into whatever lay beyond. “Oblivion,” Moira whispered, narrowing her eyes at Emma. “Over and over and over again.”

Moira examined them both. Examined them. Looked through them and at them and to them and Emma moistened her lips with her tongue, wondering at what Moira saw and wondering further if it mattered. “It is good that I have come,” Moira said at last. “You don't think so now, and perhaps won't for a time, but it is good.”

She clapped her hands once. “Shall we go, then?” she asked, and while Moira intoned it as a question, dipping _shall_ and lilting the _then_ , Emma sensed the finality. The order. The command.

And while Regina said, “No,” the statement lacked her typical confidence. 

“Dear,” Moira said sympathetically. “You fight the goodness while craving it.” She took a step towards Regina, Moira's hand rising from her side, her magic beginning light her palm--

and something in the forest crashed and snapped and yelled, “ _NO!_ ” 

A blur of blue and gray shot towards Moira and Henry screamed, “ _SHE SAID NO, YOU WITCH!_ ”

Regina and Emma called his name and started towards him, but Moira turned her lit palm in his direction, stopped him, suspended him. 

“You leave my moms alone!” Henry yelled, struggling against Moira's manipulation, his feet dangling half a meter from the ground.

Immediately, Regina's hands burned red with fire and Emma's gleamed white, white hot. 

“Let him go _this instant,_ ” Regina seethed, the balls of fire in her hands doubling in size. “Or we'll--”

“You'll what?” Moira asked, her voice still steady and infuriatingly even. “You wouldn't dare hurt me. Not when I have him. Not when I can snap his neck or stop his heart. You wouldn't dare.”

“We'll go with you!” Emma spat. “We'll go with you, we'll do whatever the hell you want us to do, just let him down _now_.”

Moira smiled, shocked, surprised, at Emma's passion. “Not all in oblivion, then,” she said softly. 

“My moms are way more powerful than you!” Henry said, his face screwed up in derision. 

“Dear, dear boy,” Moira said, lowering him to the ground. “How wrong you are.”

But his feet were back on the soil and Moira's magic no longer controlled him. He ran the space still gaping between him and his moms, hit both Regina and Emma with his arms flown wide saying, “I'm sorry I followed you, I'm _sorry_ , but I had a bad feeling--” 

“Shhh,” Regina hushed him. “It's all right.”

“You have good instincts, kid,” Emma told him. “And you're a damn good tracker, but--”

“--you have to get back to town, Henry,” Regina finished. She kissed his forehead and Emma smoothed his hair and he was sure that all of the love from every world shone in their eyes when they looked at him, but that did nothing to stop his fear.

“I—I don't want you to go,” he choked, his fingers digging into them. “I just got you both back. And what if something happens? What if you--” 

“We won't, Henry,” Emma told him.

“You don't know that!” 

“We'll come back,” Regina assured him.

“You _don't know that_!” Henry spun away from them to face Moira, placing himself bodily between her and his mothers. “You promise me,” he said, his finger jabbed towards her and his body pulsing and just barely, barely controlled. “Promise me that they'll come back. _Alive_.” He felt his heart shake, heard his voice crack, and for once he didn't flinch at the spike. He held his ground, his breathing labored, but _he held his ground_ with confidence like Regina, and with defiance just like Emma. He dug himself into his territory and he railed at the insurgent just like his moms had taught him. “Promise me you will not hurt them.”

Moira cocked her head. “You know I can't,” she said, and his scowl deepened. “But I will lie to you if it would make the separation easier.”

“It would've been easier if you hadn't come at all,” he said.

“Henry,” Regina began, but Emma grabbed her arm, silencing her.

“Let him have this,” Emma whispered, and even though she knew Moira would be aware of it, she kept the beginning of a shock wave spell at the edge of her mind. She felt the crackle of Regina's fire curl in next to it.

“Why them?” he asked. “Why are they so important to you? You don't even know them.”

Moira smiled that distant, plastic smile and grazed her eyes over Emma and Regina. “Because they have what is required to rectify the imbalance,” she said simply.

“That doesn't mean anything!” 

“Oh, my dear,” Moira breathed. “It means everything. You're just too ignorant to see it.”

“Then tell me,” Henry said. “If you know so much, tell me so I understand. So all of us understand.” He glared at Moira in challenge. “Unless you don't know. Unless you're just making it up because you're a sanctimonious witch who'd rather try to make other people feel small and worthless to make herself feel better than them when she isn't.”

Regina's eyes flew wide at his speech, but Emma considered his phrasing and nodded her silent agreement. “Good character assessment,” she whispered.

The air around Moira wavered like the heat reflected off of the highway in the desert. “Didn't your mothers ever teach you manners?” she asked softly.

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Didn't yours?”

Moira looked at him as though he smelled particularly heinous and flicked her wrist. Henry disappeared.

“Where did you send him?” Regina fumed and Emma cried, “Bring him back!”

“I sent him to the library,” Moira told them. “Where, if I am not mistaken, you instructed him to go anyway.” She smiled sympathetically at them. “Children can be so disobedient at times.”

“How did you know we sent him to the library?” Emma asked.

Moira waved her question off impatiently. “We do not have time for further interruption,” she said. “We leave immediately.”

Moira didn't move. Emma was certain Moira didn't move. And yet she felt

as if everything  
her breath  
her blood  
her bones  
her flesh  
her magic  
her mind  
her life  
were fire  
fire light and ice cold  
cold and arching  
spiking  
eaves  
of  
energy  
she  
could neither  
control  
nor  
contain--

Ripped inside out  
so the outside  
was the inside  
and the inside  
was the outside  
and she was  
somewhere  
in between  
bleeding out  
and  
bleeding in  
and blazing  
blazing  
bathed  
in coals  
bathed  
in marrow  
bathed  
in all of  
time's disillusions  
and  
recanted miscreations  
and here  
was  
_oh no_  
and  
_god yes_  
and  
_somehow I forgot_  
and  
_I never wanted to remember_

all of it rendered  
somehow  
obsolete  
as  
she twisted  
inside out  
and  
outside in  
and

stopped

 

_Stop._

 

_Just stop_

_this_

 

_now_

 

_dear god just stop this please_

 

_please_

 

_pl_

 

\--breathe--

 

_ease_


End file.
